


South Side Heist

by magneticdice



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bank Robbery, Explicit Language, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, M/M, Racism, Shameless Big Bang, tw: implied abuse, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 14:09:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1651418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magneticdice/pseuds/magneticdice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Milkoviches plan a ridiculous heist of a bank vault, but things go wrong and it turns into a hostage situation. Ian is one of the hostages... (Future AU, Mickey is around 19, Ian is 18. They don't know each other.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Girlfriend

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Terry is a racist mofo in this... sorry. There's also some straight sex in the beginning, so if you don't like that, be forewarned. Also, I am not a professional bank robber so I'm sorry if this is grossly inaccurate!! TW: implied abuse, unprotected sex, racist slurs, coarse language, graphic descriptions of sex.
> 
> This is my submission for the first Shameless Big Bang! The corresponding FanArt is done by [Raphiella](http://raphiella.tumblr.com/post/86098748642/south-side-heist-by-magneticdice-this-fic-is-a) and I hope it blows you away as much as it did me!

 

 

  


“Ohhh...” she moaned, throwing her head back. “Mmm, yeah...”

Mickey lifted his hips up off the bed to slam up into Bianca while she rode him. He grabbed her waist and guided her small frame up and down to meet his thrusts. She was tight and warm and he liked that about her. He also liked how easy it was for him to pick her up and hold her in place while he fucked her.

“Oh... yeah... oh yeah...” she panted.

He looked up at her, at the way her brown, curly hair fell down past her shoulders and how the tight ringlets rhythmically bounced against her caramel skin as the two of them moved in unison. She let go of his biceps and put her hands atop his. Mickey released his hold on her hips and let Bianca slowly glide his hands up her body, caressing her flat stomach and then cupping her small breasts in his palms.

“I'm close,” she whispered, biting her lip. He picked up his pace, not wanting her to finish before he got there too. Mickey grunted with the additional effort, but powered through, half wishing he could turn her over and really ram into her freely.

Bianca's brown eyes fluttered shut and her body started to tremble. “Oh my God...”

Mickey continued the quick movements, their bodies now making a slapping sound each time Bianca's thighs pounded against his own. He felt the familiar tightening in his gut, the raw tension building, and he knew he was close.

“I'm gonna cum,” he breathed when he knew he couldn't hold back anymore. He let go of Bianca's chest and grabbed her hips again, pulling her petite body down and holding her steady while he pushed his dick up into her as deeply as he could. In that moment—that delay between reaching the point of no return and actually ejaculating—everything shut off. His mind, his body, everything; he wasn't aware of anything around him. All he could feel was the intense sensation in his groin... an amazing, incredible sensation... a feeling that suddenly shot forward and forced its way out of the tip of his penis in several spurts... until the pleasure faded and left him feeling satisfied and completely spent.

He closed his eyes and took a few shaky breaths, enjoying the empty feeling in his balls and while trying not to look up at the girl still sitting on his cock, shivering through her own orgasm.

Bianca collapsed beside him a minute later, panting and trying to catch her own breath. She reached over Mickey's body and pulled her lighter and cigarettes out of the drawer of her side table. She carefully lit a stick for herself and then offered one to Mickey. He accepted it eagerly and thanked her with a grunt of acknowledgment.

After two weeks of jerking off to the faggoty models who advertised shit like cologne and fancy fuckin' overpriced jeans in his sister's magazines, it felt good to have a warm body to actually fuck. He stared at his cigarette, still enjoying the afterglow of a really good lay. He watched the smoke rise in a thin line from the reddish orange tip, first gathering into a small, gray cloud and then dissipating into the corners of her bedroom.

“That was great,” she said in her soft, gentle voice, lips forming a smile around her cigarette as she took a puff.

He nodded. “Yeah, it was good.” He wasn't lying... he had enjoyed himself, especially since Bianca had done most of the work, as usual. Oddly enough, when Mandy had first introduced them to each other, Mickey hadn't thought twice about her. She was the exact opposite of the girls he typically went after, being so petite and feminine.

In fact, if Mandy hadn't invited her over after school every fucking day, Mickey would have never known that Bianca was South Side, through and through. She smoked a pack a day, could drink like a fish and had known how to shoot a gun since the tender age of seven. Best of all, she didn't try to kiss him and she didn't want to cuddle.

“You should have called me earlier,” she demanded, slapping at his bicep. “Two weeks is too fucking long to go without this!” Mickey shrugged, not really wanting to add anything to the conversation.

“Unless you're screwing some other chick too?” she accused.

He sighed, a little disappointed—not because of her question, because he wasn't fucking around with anyone else—but because of what she was really asking. It always came down to this conversation, and Mickey was sick of it. No matter how clear he made his intentions from the start, the girls he hooked up with all eventually tried to get him to define the relationship or whatever. He actually liked Bianca; she was low-maintenance and—until now—hadn't bothered him about the random, spaced out booty calls he made to her to keep his dad from questioning him. (Not to mention the fact that she let him fuck her in the ass often, which was always a plus.)

“I thought we were having a good time,” he remarked, not really answering her question. “Aren't you having fun?”

“I am... but—”

“Good, because I'd hate for this to end,” he told her, knowing full well the effect his words would have on her. It was an ultimatum: things either stay as-is, or they stop completely.

He turned his head to the side and watched her face to gauge her reaction. He was relieved when all Bianca did was take another puff of her cigarette and blow the smoke out slowly. It was obvious that she wasn't happy with his comment, but she didn't respond, and their conversation was over for the time being.

~ ~ ~

Terry Milkovich had only been out of prison for ten hours and he was already passed out drunk on the living room sofa. Mickey walked into the house, saw his dad lying down, shirtless, with his boxers barely covering his ass and went straight to his room.

“How long's he been like that?” Mickey asked a minute later.

Mandy hadn't said anything—hadn't even made a sound—but he knew she was there, leaning against his door frame. He took a wad of bills from the collections he'd just made and tossed it into the top drawer of his dresser, right on top of the plethora of guns that already resided there.

“He started with the hard stuff as soon as he got in,” she answered, distaste and judgment dripping from her voice. “Did you call Jamie?”

“He's bringing the keg at like seven. Will dad even be up by the time the party starts?” he asked his sister, nodding his head in the direction of the living room.

“You think he'd miss his own welcome home party? Fat chance.” She started walking away but stopped before she was out of earshot. “Oh, and I invited Bianca.”

Mickey scowled at her, annoyed because Mandy never knew when to butt-the-fuck out. “I don't give a shit 'bout who you invited.”

“Whatever, assface. I was just lettin' you know so you aren't a little bitch about it when she shows up. Come help me with the sign when you're done not showering.”

“Fuck off,” he spat, flipping her off.

~ ~ ~

The half-assed “Welcome Home” banner was hung over the door, the keg was tapped, the snacks were plentiful and the number of Milkoviches in one place had never been so high. The whole family showed up to welcome Terry back, which was stupid because it wasn't the first nor would it be the last time the patriarch was incarcerated.

This time, however, it had taken longer than usual for them to let him out—long enough for Mandy to get through the chunk of her senior year—and for the last five months or so, Mickey had gotten used to being the one in charge.

The drinking went on well through the night and the acquaintances slowly trickled out, until all that remained was Mickey's immediate family and their significant others.

“I don't know why they keep lettin' a douchebag like you out of prison, but if it gives me an excuse to drink, then I'm all for it,” their Aunt Rande barked out with a laugh. She'd brought her brother a bottle of bourbon to celebrate—a bottle that was almost empty now. “How'd you manage to get away with it this time?” she asked him.

“Ay! Those cocksuckers didn't have nuthin' on me! I had a fuckin' alibi, and that shit cost me fifteen hundred, so I knew it would hold up in court. If it wasn't for all that legal garbage, I woulda been back in a week. Fucking bureaucratic bullshit. This country is going to shit.”

“You sound like Frank Gallagher,” Iggy joked, and to his credit, everyone burst into laughter.

“Don't go comparing me to that drunken degenerate,” Terry snapped back. Iggy shrugged and held out yet another bottle for him, and their dad happily accepted it before settling down again.

The night went on like that, with everyone ribbing on their dad, and as long as there was alcohol left, Terry didn't seem to mind. Mickey sat in his spot on the corner couch and downed beer after beer, just watching all of his family's interactions, waiting for the inevitable moment someone pushed too far... because all Milkovich social functions ended the same way.

Joey's girlfriend, some hood girl whose name Mickey couldn't even remember, went to get them another round of shots, but she tripped on her way back to the living room, sending a few of the shot glasses crashing to the ground and the contents of the ones that survived onto the Milkoviches on the couch closest to her.

One of those Milkoviches happened to be Terry.

“Watch where you're fuckin' goin',” Terry shouted at her. He quickly wiped at his shirt, attempting to get the drops of vodka that had landed there off of him before they settled in. “Dumb spic,” he muttered.

Mickey's eyes darted to Bianca, who scowled indignantly from her seat beside Mandy. Joey's girl wasn't the only hispanic one there, and Terry's racism knew no bounds.

His brother's girlfriend took a step back, equally scared and shocked by Terry's comment.

Of course Terry wouldn't leave it at that. “Fuckin' Mexi-ho can't even walk from one place to the other without making a God-damned mess,” their dad said angrily.

“Excuse me?” Bianca looked outraged, and rightfully so. “Who are you calling a Mexi-ho? She's Puerto Rican!”

“Same difference. You've seen one Can, you've seen 'em all. Mexi-can, Puerto Ri-can, right sis?”

Their aunt was the only one to laugh at that one, and Mickey guessed it was because she was already too drunk to know any better. Aunt Rande's MS meds didn't react well with alcohol, and the woman who had once been known for having the tolerance of a college frat-boy was now a light-weight.

“Dad, come on...” Joey started in a half-assed attempt to defend his girlfriend. It fell on deaf ears.

Terry took a swig from the bottle of tequila on the coffee table and pointed at all of the girls who weren't a part of his family. “I'm surrounded by wetbacks,” he spat out.

Mickey hadn't noticed before, but both Iggy and Joey were dating Puerto Rican girls, and Bianca was Colombian. Jamie's girlfriend was the only white one out of the bunch, and she was passed out with her head on his lap. Mickey watched Iggy put an arm on his girl's shoulder and squeeze it, silently warning her not to get involved.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” came Bianca's reaction. Mandy grabbed her arm and tried to get her to relax but Bianca was too hyped up.

Mickey gritted his teeth, knowing the direction the night was heading in if someone didn't intervene.

“Dad, cut it out,” Mickey tried, but Terry ignored him.

“Who the hell invited these bitches to my house?” Terry stood and walked to the middle of the living room. “Who are you?” he asked Bianca, and then pointed to Iggy's girlfriend. “Who's that one?”

Bianca took a step forward, into Terry's space, and Mickey had no choice but to get up and stand between them to prevent an actual, physical fight from breaking loose.

“Dad...” He looked Terry right in the eyes while motioning for Bianca to sit her ass back down. “Listen. This isn't the fuckin' Alamo, okay? No one's here to start shit. It was a fucking accident.” He felt someone push a glass into his hand and brought it up to Terry's line of sight without breaking eye contact. “Here, have a drink.” He handed his dad the glass and stepped back, waiting to see if it would work.

It did. Terry took the offered glass with a glare and downed whatever brown liquid was in it.

Mickey relaxed a fraction. His dad sat back down on the couch and poured another two fingers into the glass. “So is anyone going to answer me?” he asked. Everyone looked around, confused. “Who the hell are these girls?” Terry clarified.

Jamie was the one to talk first. “This is my girlfriend, Ashley.” He pointed to the girl sleeping on his lap. “She can sleep through anything when she drinks,” he added jokingly. Ashley made a small snoring sound (as if her timing could have _possibly_ been any more perfect) and the room erupted into laughter. Even Mickey cracked a smile.

“That there's Iggy's girl, Maria,” Jamie continued, “Bianca is Mandy's friend from school, and slippery fingers over there is Melissa, Joey's girlfriend,” he said with a nervous laugh.

“No shit? Shit-for-brains managed to get a girlfriend?” Terry asked, laughing at Joey right along with Jamie. “And let me guess... this faggot's still as single as a Catholic priest?” he said, indicating Mickey.

Mickey bristled at the insult.

“Don't the priests rape the altar boys?” Mandy quipped.

“Wait, Mickey rapes altar boys?” Joey wondered.

“Shut the fuck up, idiot. I don't fucking rape altar boys,” Mickey cut in.

Terry let out a sinister laugh. “You're in no position to defend yourself, kid. Maybe if you'd go out and get yourself some ass, you might have a valid argument...”

“I don't need to fucking go out and get any ass. I have a girlfriend.”

The room became awkwardly silent. The words had just rolled out of Mickey's mouth.

Terry let out a chuckle, clearly not believing anything Mickey said. “Oh yeah? Who is this mystery girlfriend?”

Mickey bit his lip and looked nervously at Bianca, who was just as shocked as the rest of the Milkoviches.

Terry saw the direction of Mickey's glance and let out an incredulous huff. “The feisty one?”

Bianca shrugged her shoulders imperceptibly and gave Terry and Mickey a tentative smile.

“Hmph. Okay then. Let's have another round of shots.”

Mickey sighed in relief, thankful at the small rescue from Bianca, but also nervous about what he'd just done.

He had a girlfriend.

~ ~ ~

Mandy and Bianca graduated from high school a month later. His sister was the first Milkovich to do so, and they undoubtedly threw another party to celebrate—this time with a lot less racial slurs.

Mickey liked that his dad was happy about him having a girlfriend. Terry wasn't as big a dick to him when she was around, so he invited Bianca over more and more often. She was quickly and easily becoming part of the Milkovich inner circle.

Even though they were officially a couple, nothing really changed. Bianca was still low-maintenance—she never tried to go on cheesy dates or any shit like that—and she wasn't the least bit affectionate. There was always that nagging feeling in the back of Mickey's mind that told him he wasn't happy... that this wasn't what he wanted... but he learned to ignore it. The benefits of having Bianca as his girlfriend outweighed his negative thoughts and the guilt of using her.

Mandy started working at the Waffle Cottage a few weeks after graduation, because it was the only place she could make decent tips without having to let her boobs hang out. Apparently having her high school diploma didn't mean much when it came to getting a job.

Bianca fared much better: her cousin was the manager of a bank over on Archer Avenue, so he got her a job as a teller. Needless to say, both girls hated their jobs.

~ ~ ~

Bianca came over after work one Friday with two boxes of deep-dish, pepperoni pizza. The Milkovich house was crowded yet again, but Mickey had become used to it by now. They all gathered around the dining room table and ate, Ashley and Maria sitting on Jamie and Iggy's laps, respectively, since there weren't enough seats.

“Maybe we should consider buying some more chairs,” Mandy said to no one in particular. She popped the cap off the beer she'd gotten from the fridge.

“Hey dumbass,” Mickey called across the table to Joey, mouth full of pizza, “where's Melissa?”

His blond brother frowned and muttered, “she dumped me,” in a sad, hurt-puppy voice.

Bianca snorted. “Come on, did you really expect her to stick around after your dad scared the shit out of her last month?” She flashed a grin to Terry who shrugged as if it couldn't have been helped.

“Yo, pass me another slice,” Jamie ordered Mandy.

“Get it yourself, douchebag,” their sister retorted.

“Babe, can you get me another slice?” he asked Ashley, and to everyone’s disgust, the blonde girl got up and obliged. Ashley was easily the biggest pushover there, and everyone knew it.

Terry was the first to comment. “Look at this! At least _one_ broad here knows her place,” he joked, taking a bite out of his pizza.

“You know, _this_ broad’s the one who brought you your dinner in the first place,” Bianca told him, pointing at Terry’s slice with her own crust.

Terry didn’t have a witty comeback for that. He stared at his girlfriend, wondering where she got the balls to talk to Terry Milkovich the way she so easily did. Bianca caught Mickey watching her and grinned before going to the kitchen and getting two more beers from the fridge. She passed one to Mickey and used the side of the table to pop the cap off of her own with ease: a sign of true class.

They continued eating their pizza until Iggy’s girlfriend broke the silence. “By the way, did you get a chance to look at that apartment?” Maria asked Bianca from across the table.

“Saw it,” Bianca replied, shaking her head. “Saw the _mice_ in it too.”

 _That_ was new news. “You’re moving?” Mandy and Mickey asked at the same time, both whipping their heads in her direction.

“Why?” Mickey added. Bianca lived at home, with her parents, rent-free. It didn’t make sense for her to move out‒it would be stupid for _anyone_ to give up that kind of an advantageous situation.

“Full house,” she told them with a shrug. When it became clear that her response wasn’t enough of an explanation, she elaborated. “I’m turning eighteen next week. My mom and dad decided that the little ones need the space more than I do.”

“Well that sucks,” Mandy said to her friend. “If you wanna find a decent place, it’s gonna eat into your fancy new paycheck…”

Bianca nodded and sighed, clearly knowing how shitty her predicament was.

“You can move in here.”

There was complete silence in the Milkovich house as everyone, including Bianca, turned to look at Terry in shock.

“But when I asked you if Melissa could move in, you said no,” Joey whined.

“You’re not even dating her anymore, you idiot,” Mandy said, tossing her crust at her brother’s head.

“ _My_ house, _my_ decision who gets to live in it,” Terry growled, ending the conversation.

Of course no one bothered to ask Mickey what _he_ wanted, and living with the girl he was dating for convenience’s sake was definitely _not_ it.

 


	2. The Plan

 

 

  


 

Bianca had been living with the Milkoviches for a week already, and everything was going well, but Mickey couldn’t help but be weirded out by how close she was with his dad.

They were sitting in the living room with Mandy and Terry, watching Wipeout on TV, but Mandy spent the whole episode complaining to Bianca about the people who came into her restaurant and tried to scam her with coupons. The Waffle Cottage put a flyer in the paper that said you could have two dollars off of a meal before noon and another that gave two dollars off lunch before four in the afternoon, so they would all try to use both coupons. “I just don't get why they can't read the fine print. Fucking illiterate idiots!”

“You think your day was bad? Mine was absolute crap. One of the other girls called in sick so my cousin made me cover her shift and then still do my own. It's Friday so everyone came in to deposit their paychecks and on top of that, there were three people who wanted to open their safety deposit boxes. I fuckin' hate it. I'm supposed to stand there and just wait outside ofthe private room while they look through their boxes, and they always take their sweet-ass time.” She took a long swig of her beer after finishing her mini-rant.

Terry, who had been quiet until then, suddenly spoke up. “What kinda people go into the vault at your bank?”

Bianca shrugged. “Mostly old ladies with too much makeup and heavy perfume, and some sketchy guys in suits.”

“These old ladies got a lot of jewelry?”

Bianca had to think about it but she eventually nodded.

Mickey saw where the conversation was headed before Terry could even spit his next sentence out. The evil twinkle in his dad’s eyes said it all.

“No, dad. You're fucking insane. We are not robbing a bank.”

Bianca and Mandy started laughing at Mickey's words, but he could tell they didn't realize he was being serious. “You think I'm kidding? Look at his face,” he told the girls, pointing to his now-grinning dad.

“Dios mio, no fucking way. You can't rob the place!” Bianca shouted with wide eyes. “We have alarms everywhere! There are special trackers and ink explosives that we're trained to put into the bags in case of a robbery. There’s an armed security guard on duty at all times, Terry—it'll never work.”

“Did I say I wanted to rob the bank?” Terry asked defensively. They were silent.

“Don't put words in my mouth, boy,” he said to Mickey before hitting him

upside the head. “What I wanna do is rob the _vault_.”

They were still silent. Mickey rubbed the back of his head and stared from his dad to his sister and then to his girlfriend. The fact that they were even considering such a crazy idea made him sick.

“None of that security shit'll matter if they don't know they're being robbed. We hit the vault, take whatever jewelry and cash we can find. Anything of value... People don't keep legally earned cash in safes—they would deposit that. No, safety deposit boxes are for emergency funds, getaway money, safety nets, all that bullshit people tell themselves is worth paying a hundred bucks a year to keep locked up. The kind of people who keep cash in their safety deposit boxes are not the people who will report it if it goes missing.” He looked at Bianca and the two of them had some strange unspoken conversation. “You can't tell me you haven't thought about it...”

She shrugged. “You can't just break into the vault. That's why it's a vault. Explosives would draw attention.” She raised her eyebrows and gave him him a conspiratorial smile. “If only you had a key...”

Terry barked out a laugh. “Yeah, if only I knew someone on the inside...”

Mickey couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe that Bianca was siding with Terry. He looked at Mandy and noticed the creases in her forehead she always got when she was deep in thought. He couldn't _believe_ that this was actually something they were considering; but even though he was hesitant, his dad didn't give him much of a choice about it.

The fact that Bianca was so enthusiastic about Terry's idea was what sealed the deal.

~ ~ ~

They staked the place out for a week. 4970 South Archer Avenue. Mickey had the address doodled all over his notebook, on page after page of messy scribbles. After hours and hours of sitting at either the bus stop across the street or at the Dunkin Donuts on the other side of the parking lot, watching the passerby and writing down everything that went on around him onto the lined pages, he was starting to lose his patience.

The bank was right across the street from a high school, so it didn't look weird that they were sitting there, watching it. He and his brothers took turns, and it was almost time for Jamie to take over. Mickey turned the page and went over his notes.

Bianca had given him as much information as she could get: shift changes of the managers, employees and the security guards, even the armored car pick-up times.

The problem was that Mickey needed to know what happened _outside_ of the bank. He knew a stick-up wasn't going to work. If they wanted to do things right, they would need to know details like when the surrounding area was at its slowest, least-busy time, so that their heist would go unnoticed. He'd been making notes about the foot traffic, the customers in neighboring stores, the school hours and how long it took the kids to clear out—basically anything that might give them an in.

The incessant sound of horns being angrily honked pulled Mickey's attention away from his notebook. There was a ComEd truck stopped in the right-most late of the street, and a line-up of quite a few now-inconvenienced cars behind it.

And just like that, Mickey had a plan.

~ ~ ~

On Mickey's orders, Bianca introduced Mandy to Felix, the young security guard. Pimping his sister out didn't even register as awkward; they had a mission, and they were all prepared to do everything they could. Felix was easy on the eyes (Mickey only checked him out _objectively_ , of course), so he knew she wouldn't actually mind. Mandy's job was simple: she needed to get Felix hooked enough to be able to convince him to abandon his post at the right time.

“Fuck, Mandy!” Mickey shouted, ducking out of the path of the bottle his sister had thrown at him. “All I asked was if you’re sure you can get the guard away!”

“If I said I can do it, _I CAN FUCKING DO IT!_ ” she shouted back.

“OKAY! Jesus Fucking Christ!” Mickey turned and looked at Bianca for some kind of backup. “Is she on her period or something?” he asked his girlfriend. She laughed as Mandy screamed again and threw something else in the direction of Mickey’s head.

~ ~ ~

Mickey spent the next afternoon making phone calls to the city to find out what kind of work the electric company was doing. ComEd would be repairing some kind of cable on Archer Avenue for the next five days. Their window of opportunity was small, but Mickey was confident their plan would work.

“Iggy, I need you to be on that job,” he told his dark-haired brother as he pulled up a chair to the dining room table. “It’s fuckin’ perfect. You’ll have access to the whole grid, and no one will think twice about the new guy ‘accidentally’ cutting a wrong wire. You turn out the lights and we’re golden.”

“Won’t the bank’s generator just kick in?” Iggy wondered. He poured himself another generous serving of the chili con carne Bianca and Mandy had cooked for dinner.

“Yeah but not before we cut their outgoing lines. Their whole system will be compromised: no internet access, no phone lines. They won’t be able to call the cops if anything goes wrong. It’ll give us enough time to get in and out unnoticed.”

Mandy frowned. “How’s he supposed to get on that job? He doesn’t have any experience and he doesn’t even work for the company…”

“I know one of the electric company’s union guys. Iggy and I’ll go down there tomorrow morning and see if we can’t do some _convincing_ ,” Terry said with a grin. The twinkle in his dad’s eye at the prospect of intimidating the shit out of someone who hadn’t even done anything to deserve it made Mickey nauseous. “Don’t worry. Iggy’ll be on the job by tomorrow afternoon.”

~ ~ ~

Once in the vault, they would need a way to get into the individual safety deposit boxes. Mickey knew that his brother Jamie dabbled in explosives‒he was actually famous in their neighborhood for putting on the best ghetto Fourth of July fireworks display every summer.

Jamie spent whatever free time he had when he wasn’t with his girlfriend looking up how-to videos online. It was disgusting how much crap like that there was on Youtube. You'd think the federal government would have better ways of monitoring it... Mickey wasn't a terrorist or anything, but the thought actually worried him.

Explosives would be too messy in their situation. The Milkoviches needed to be smart: stealth was their best course of action. On Mickey’s orders, Jamie began researching ways to combine different chemicals so that they would melt through the steel safety deposit boxes, allowing them quick, noiseless access to the spoils inside the vault.

“How’s it coming along?” Mickey asked his eldest brother, getting up to stand behind him. Jamie was carefully mixing two of the various chemicals Joey had stolen from the science lab of the local high school.

“You hovering over me ain’t gonna make it work any faster…” Jamie muttered. He stared at the gel-like chemicals on the table for a long moment as if waiting for something to happen. When nothing did, Jamie sat back and took his plastic gloves and goggles off with a defeated sigh, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand.

His cell phone chimed with a text alert and Jamie reached to answer it, knocking over a third beaker of some cloudy liquid all over the table. When the liquid made contact with the gel that Jamie had just mixed, it bubbled and started making a hissing sound. The acid burned right through the table and fell onto his brother’s leg in thick drops.

Jamie yelled in horror and jumped back from the table as the few drops started eating through his jeans.

“Oh shit!” Mickey screamed, stunned.

“Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck! Get it off! Get my pants off!” Jamie urgently reached for his waist and fumbled with his belt. His face twisted in anguish and his curses turned to unintelligible howls as the chemicals made contact with his skin.

Mickey was already calling 911 when his dad took the cell phone out of his hand. “Don’t be a fucking idiot,” he said to Mickey in disgust before crushing the cell on the floor. “You don’t want them knowing what caused the burn.”

Instead, Terry poured the rest of his beer onto Jamie’s leg, washing away what was left of the cloudy liquid that was the limiting agent. The sizzling on Jamie’s jeans came to a sudden stop.

Mandy rushed over to Jamie and, with Mickey’s help, took off their brother’s tattered pants. They carried him to the bathroom and put his leg under cold, running water. There were three deep, red holes on his shin where the acid had started eating at his leg, but they weren’t bleeding.

Jamie was panting and he looked ready to pass out.

“If it isn’t bleeding, that’s a good sign,” Bianca told them from the bathroom doorway. “I’ll go get him some bandages and a cream or something to put on the holes.”

“ _Holes_?!” Jamie hadn’t looked down at his leg but when Mickey’s girlfriend referred to his injury, he visibly panicked.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Mandy reassured him.

“Hey, on the plus side, at least we know the chemicals work…” Mickey chimed, hoping the joke would distract his brother from the pain. It didn’t.

~ ~ ~

With Jamie out of commission after the chemical snafu, Joey had to take over. He worked with their older brother for the rest of the week, learning everything about how to _carefully_ mix all the ingredients together in much smaller quantities in order to burn through the steel of the vault boxes.

The only person who didn’t have a job yet was Terry.

“I want you on the inside, dad,” Mickey told his father. “You go in with a fake ID, pose as a customer trying to open a new account or some shit.”

Terry bristled at being ordered to do anything by his son but didn’t object. The whole heist had been his idea, afterall.

“Make sure you’re close enough to Bianca’s cousin to knock him out if things go south. We’ll need all the back-up we can get.”

Mickey watched his family as they made their individual preparations: Iggy was busy reading an “Electrical Wiring for Dummies” book; Mandy was typing away at her phone, probably sexting Felix; and Joey and Jamie were huddled over the many bottles of chemicals, with the latter’s bandaged foot propped up on a stool.

Bianca walked over to the couch and took a seat beside Mickey. She offered him a cigarette. “You look stressed.”

Mickey reached for the stick and shrugged. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t be worried with this lot?” he asked her, gesturing over his shoulder at his siblings.

She flashed him a smile and held out her lighter. “That’s why you’re the brains, right?”

Mickey took the offered lighter and lit his cigarette. “Let’s go over the back-up plan,” he told her, pulling his notepad out of his back pocket.

 


	3. The Redhead

“Good morning,” Ian said as he joined the rest of his family downstairs in the kitchen. He was surprised by his older brother’s presence. “Oh, hey. You slept here last night?” he wondered, feeling guilty for possibly not having noticed Lip at all the prior night.

“Nah, just got home like ten minutes ago. I brought a tray of leftovers from the cafeteria for dinner, and I needed to pick up a textbook before my next class,” Lip explained. “Plus, Fiona has to meet her P.O. today so I’m taking Liam to Sheila’s.”

“Eeeeeee-an!” Liam screeched from his high chair. He happily held out his hands, reaching towards the redhead.

Ian went over to his youngest brother and gave him a kiss on the top of his head. “Mornin’ little man.” He then went to the dryer and rummaged around for something clean to wear over his t-shirt.

“I’m making pancakes,” Fiona told them from the other side of the counter. She had a bowl and the Bisquick box inher hands. “Carl left early to walk to school with Bonnie and Debbie’s still asleep. How many do you want?”

Ian found the shirt he was looking for and quickly put it on. “Oh, Sorry Fi. I don’t have time to eat breakfast,” he told her, flashing his sister a half-hearted, apologetic smile. “If I don’t get to work in the next fifteen minutes, Linda’s going to literally kill me.”

“I think you mean ‘figuratively’, bro,” Lip snorted.

“Have you _seen_ that woman with a gun? No, I _definitely_ mean ‘literally’.”

Both Lip and Fiona laughed.

“Here,” Fiona called, tossing Ian a package of Pop-tarts. “They’re not hot or anything but it’s better than nothin’ right?” she shrugged.  

Ian nodded his thanks and could see the hopeful expression slowly slide off of her face but he was out the door before his sister could mother him any more. They all knew Fiona was trying to make it up to them‒she had royally fucked up, afterall‒but it was going to be a while before they trusted her again.

As soon as Ian stepped outside, he was hit by the weight of the humidity in the air. The stifling heat was unusual for this early in the summer. He took off the checkered shirt he’d just taken from the dryer and slung the extra layer over his shoulder as he made his way to the store, the warmth of the sun beat on his face and now-exposed arms.

He picked up the pace, not wanting to be more late than he already was.

Ian had had a serious conversation with Linda after Liam’s accident. With Kash still gone and a new baby in the mix, she had needed more help at the store, and _he_ had needed more income to be able to help Lip support his family. Fiona’s mistake had cost them all‒and he had convinced Linda to give him more responsibility, making him manager. The promotion had taken effect right after Ian’s high school graduation.

The downside was that Ian had nixed his dreams of joining the army. He couldn’t abandon his family when they needed him the most, and if still working at the same convenience store he’d been at since he was fifteen, doing the same thing day after day was the price, he could deal with it. Things could have been a lot worse‒at least he _had_ a job.

He was only a couple of blocks away when his phone started vibrating in his pocket. He drew it out and looked at the caller ID, then cringed. It was Aaron.

Ian really didn’t have time to talk to him, so he kept walking but answered anyway, knowing that his boyfriend would get pissed if he ignored his call again.

“Yeah?” he said shortly into the receiver.

“Hey…” Aaron’s voice was nervous, tentative, like he was testing the waters. It had been two days since they’d last talked, and that was Ian’s fault.

“Hey,” Ian said back, not wanting to be a total dick. None of this was Aaron’s fault, after all.

There was a resigned sigh on the other end of the line. “Where are you?”

“On my way to work.”

“Can you talk?”

“For another minute, yeah.”

“No, I mean _talk_. Can I come by?”

“To the store?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“Ian…”

“Look,” Ian bit out, stopping to duck into the alley right beside the Kash and Grab. “I told you I wanted some time to think about things, okay?”

“I gave you time...”

“Well, I need more time.”

“How much more? I miss you.”

“Just… _more_ , alright?” he huffed out, frustrated. “Look… I gotta go. I’ll call you after my shift, okay?”

He closed the phone and stuffed it back into his pocket just as he rounded the corner. The bell above the door chimed when he walked through.

“Sorry,” he muttered to Linda before taking his place behind the register.

Linda glared at him but surprisingly kept her mouth shut about his tardiness. “The baby has an appointment with the pediatrician today, and then the boys have soccer practice after day-camp. I need you to go to the bank during your lunch break and deposit the daily cash. We don’t want to have too much in the register…”

Ian nodded, knowing the risks involved in keeping too much cash on hand. Luckily, the store hadn’t been seriously robbed in over two months.

Linda left in a hurry not much later, dragging the baby in its car seat and ushering her sons out of the store.

The day went by slowly, as usual, with most people coming in to buy cold drinks and ice cream from the fridge. Around one, Ian counted out the register and put the larger bills into an envelope that he carefully stuffed into his pocket. He flipped the ghetto, cardboard break sign around and locked the door, then headed to the bank.

There was a Dunkin Donuts on the other side of the parking lot of the same strip-mall the bank was in, and it was so disgustingly hot that Ian decided to stop and grab himself an iced-coffee.

He was standing in line when he felt a hand grip his shoulder. He grabbed the fingers of the hand and spun around, twisting the owner’s wrist in the process.

“Ow, ow, ow! Ian, it’s me!”

Aaron stood behind him in his tailored suit, briefcase in hand. The older man was fit, and it showed in the way his suit clung to his body and the straining muscles of the arm that Ian held. His light brown hair was only slightly disheveled from the commotion, a few strands covering his brown eyes.

Ian reluctantly let go. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I went to the Kash and Grab to talk to on your lunch break.” His boyfriend wiggled the fingers of his hand and winced, then shook it out.

Ian wanted to tell him he should have known better than to sneak up on him‒should have known that, after all of Ian’s junior ROTC training, the redhead would know how to deal with a stranger grabbing him‒ but decided not to get into it here.

“So you followed me here?” Ian accused.

Aaron’s cheeks reddened. “I just wanted to talk…”

“Jesus, Aaron. We talked on the phone this morning,” Ian griped.

“You _know_ that’s not what I meant.” Aaron sighed again, then looked around the coffee shop before taking a step closer to Ian. “Baby, my boss is pressuring me for an answer. The position in New York isn’t going to be open for long. You told me you needed time, and I _gave_ you time, but now I need to know. I need an answer.” He reached out to hold Ian’s hand but the younger boy quickly swatted Aaron’s hand away. He usually appreciated Aaron's need for public displays of affection, but not in _this_ neighborhood.

“Well, it’s not that easy, and you constantly badgering me about isn’t helping.”

Ian knew he was dragging things out. Aaron had received a job offer from the head office in NYC two weeks ago, but instead of ending things with Ian, he’d surprised him by asking him to move with him instead. The problem was that Ian didn’t want to just up and leave his family‒not now, when they needed him the most. Things were just starting to get better at home.

“We talked about this, babe. You can find another job there and send money to your family from there. Plus, with you gone, that’s one less mouth for them to feed, right?”

He said it with a smile, as if that really was a solution. Ian just frowned. How could Aaron understand? He was from the North Side, born and raised. He didn’t have to worry about where his next meal would come from, or if he would be able to get enough money to keep the heat on through the winter, and he definitely didn’t understand what it meant to have to support a family. No, for Aaron, life was _easy_. He was an only child, had parents who were happily married and had supported him through college, had gone to the best schools and had gotten a job at the same accounting firm that his father worked at. He was the epitome of privilege.

“Look, just gimme another day to think about it, ‘kay? I’ll talk to Lip tonight,” Ian huffed, giving up. He didn’t have the energy to argue with Aaron again, and certainly wasn’t going to do so in a Dunkin Donuts.

“Okay. Let me take you to dinner tonight? Someplace nice, downtown. We can talk about it again?”

“Fine.”

Aaron leaned in for a kiss but Ian turned his head, letting his boyfriend’s lips land on his cheek.

“I’ll see you later,” Aaron said into his ear before leaving.

Ian watched him go.

“Fuckin’ North Side trust-fund babies,” a voice said from the table beside where he was standing.

Ian couldn’t stifle a laugh at sheer truth of the stranger’s comment. He knew he should have been worried that someone had overheard his conversation‒had probably even seen Aaron’s attempts at being affectionate in public‒but when he looked at the pale face of the guy who’d spoken, he didn’t see any malice there.

“Is it that obvious?” Ian asked, cringing.

The guy snorted and scratched at his bottom lip with the side of his thumb before looking up at Ian. “That faggoty suit, those gay-ass shoes and that briefcase? Who the _fuck_ uses a briefcase anymore?”

Ian laughed and the stranger smiled too, little crows feet forming at the corners of his bright blue eyes.

“Next?” the Indian girl behind the counter called.

Ian quickly spun to face her, not having noticed that the line ahead of him was already gone. He placed his order and turned back to talk to the guy some more but the seat he’d been in a moment ago was now empty.

~ ~ ~

With his iced caramel latte in hand, Ian walked across the lot and into the bank. He was admittedly distracted, thinking about everything Aaron had said, as well as how he could bring the subject up with Lip.

The place was practically empty, and Ian was relieved he wouldn’t have to wait on line too long. There was an old lady dumping a jar of coins into the coin counting machine, two tellers‒a Japanese girl and a hispanic one‒who were already helping their respective customers, and one of those associates who you talked to when you needed to open an account or get a loan. Ian was the third person in line, standing behind a guy in his mid-thirties who was talking on the phone with one of those obnoxious bluetooth earpieces.

The Japanese teller handed her customer, a middle-aged woman with bad hair, an envelope and returned her bank card to her. She accepted it with a short thanks and started walking out. Ian watched her because she was in such a bad mood, it was obvious. Just as she was about to get out of the bank, the lights suddenly turned off.

“What’s happening?” the old lady at the coin machine shouted in panic.

The only light coming in was from the front doors, since the bank had no other windows. Ian looked around the dim room in confusion.

The associate‒or rather, that manager, as Ian would soon realize‒walked out from his glass office on the right and made an announcement. “Please, everyone, don’t worry. As I’m sure you saw on your way in, the electric company is doing some routine maintenance. We have a backup generator that should kick in any second now.”

Right on cue, the lights came back on.

Ian looked around at the other employees. None of them seemed at all worried and went right back to business. Ian watched as the manager who had come out to make the announcement returned to his office. He could see him through the glass wall, now apologizing to the client he was with, a large, intimidating man with gray hair. For a second, Ian thought he recognized the man as one of Frank’s drinking buddies, but the suit he was in made him think otherwise.

The Japanese teller called the next customer forward. It was a young girl, probably in her early twenties, listening to something on her headphones. She wordlessly handed her debit card and a deposit slip to the teller when there was a bang.

Ian felt the ground shake under his feet. The entire building rattled with the force of whatever had just happened. That was definitely _not_ from ComEd’s “routine maintenance”... it sounded more like an _explosion._

The people in the bank began to panic again. They moved towards the doors, the only exit, when an alarm went off. It was only then that Ian realized there was no security guard at the front. The alarm continued to ring and was soon accompanied by flashing lights as heavy, steel bars descended from atop the doors.

“Everyone, please remain calm!” the hispanic teller called out over the voices of the frightened patrons. Her attempt was pointless; everyone could tell that something was up as soon as the bars had slid down.

That was when the lights went out again, and they stayed off this time. The alarm stopped ringing as suddenly as it had started

It was completely silent.

 


	4. The Mistake

 

Mandy couldn’t believe she’d been dating Felix for over a week without fucking. It was _so_ unlike her, and she felt like some sort of nun… but Mickey’s instructions were clear: she had to be able to draw him away from his post at the right time, and the only way she could be sure that he would go with her was if she made it worth his while.

Felix wasn’t so bad. He reminded Mandy of Pharrell, but with one of those stupid, thin moustaches that guys grow when they first hit puberty and can’t get a full goatee in. He had a nice body and he was even kind of interesting. They’d gone out every night since Bianca had introduced them.

Mandy texted him an hour before the job was supposed to go down. She put on her favorite black lace bra and panties that she’d nicked from Victoria’s Secret and sent him a perfect selfie. They sexted back and forth for the next forty five minutes, and by the time Mandy got to the bank, wearing a slinky tank-top and a miniskirt that left very little to the imagination, she knew she had him wrapped around her little finger.

“I want you, _now_ ,” she said into his ear.

“Baby, I’m at work. I can’t just leave.”

“Sure you can. Aren’t you allowed to take a break?”

“That’s not how it works.”

She fake-pouted at him until he ducked his head, looked at her through his lashes and gave in with a shy smile. She ran her fingertips down his uniform, the fabric cool to the touch. She dipped her index finger past the buttons of his shirt, felt the few, short hairs on his chest, and the hard muscles underneath them.

“You won’t regret it,” she said, grabbing him by his uniform’s tie and pulling him along to the back of the building.

Mandy looked to the other side of the parking lot, past the few random cars and over to the Dunkin Donuts. She saw Mickey through the glass, sitting at a table by himself, nursing a plastic cup of iced coffee and keeping his eyes trained on her. She gave him a deliberate nod, signalling that everything was on schedule. She watched him just long enough to see him toss the drink into the trash and get up, then turned her attention back to Felix.

If she was doing this, she could at least enjoy herself.

~ ~ ~

Bianca easily led Mickey into the bathroom after Mandy lured him away. She passed him the key-card she’d swiped off of the manager. It would allow them to access the vault, but not the safety deposit boxes inside of it, since those required individual keys.

“My cousin’s already sitting in his office with Terry,” she said, looking at her watch. It was almost time. “Cindy’s working with me at the counter today instead of Rose. She called in sick.”

“Doesn’t make a difference,” Mickey muttered, accepting the key-card.

Bianca shrugged. “Whatever. Get me a nice necklace or something, ‘kay?” she asked with a grin.

Mickey nodded curtly to her and she was gone. He turned to his brother Joey, who was also in the stall with him. “Iggy’s supposed to hit the power line in 3 minutes. Do you have everything?”

Joey tapped his backpack and nodded. He’d been hiding in the bathroom since Bianca had snuck him in two hours ago, and was only joined by Mickey for the last five minutes. The bank had a strict policy about its patrons using the restroom. There was a special log and any guest had to be accompanied by an employee _and_ escorted out. She’d timed bringing Joey in during the guards’ shift change, so Felix hadn’t known that there was still someone inside when he’d started for the afternoon shift.

The lights went out right on schedule. Iggy turned off the power to the whole block, which took care of the bank’s phones, internet and the alarm. The back-up generator would soon bring the lights back on, but it would only power the _inside_ of the bank. Mickey knew that everything _outgoing_ would be compromised. In fact, he was counting on that.

“Alright, we don’t have much time. Let’s go,” Mickey said. They hurriedly made their way to the vault in the dark, and a quick swipe of the key-card let them in.

It only took another two minutes for the generator to kick in, and as soon as light was restored, Joey got to work mixing the chemicals just the way Jamie had taught him. With his gloved hands, he carefully opened the bottles from his bag and applied their contents to the steel boxes that lined the walls of the vault, one by one, concentrating on the largest boxes at the bottom.

In the meantime, Mickey found the security panel beside the door. Using a small blade from his pocket, he pried the panel open. Iggy had explained to him that he had to be careful with the wires, because fucking with the wrong one would activate the alarms and lock them into the vault. All Mickey wanted to do was cause a power surge so that the lights would go out again, this time long enough for them to get out of the vault unseen, and to join the crowd.

There was an explosion behind him and Mickey was propelled forward by the shock of the blast, his face smashing into the wall ahead of him. Thankfully, aside from a sore nose, he wasn’t hurt.

Mickey blinked as the dust cleared. He whipped his head around to glare at Joey with fear and anger in his eyes.

“What the _fuck_ was that, Joey?!” he half-whispered, half-shouted to his brother.

Joey wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm. “I dunno… I followed Jamie’s instructions just like I was supposed to…”

Mickey punched Joey in his shoulder in annoyance. “I can’t fucking believe this. There wasn’t supposed to be an explosion, you idiot. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to let your dumb ass be in charge of the chemicals!” he yelled pointedly. He knew it was really his fault for trusting Joey with such a complex task. He should have known better.

“Maybe no one heard it,” Joey said dumbly.

That was when an alarm began ringing overhead, as if it was mocking them. Mickey hit his brother again, this time shoving at his chest.

By some stroke of luck, the vault’s emergency locking system hadn’t been activated by the explosion. Mickey guessed it had something to do with the security panel wires he’d been playing with right before Joey’s chemical mishap.

“We don’t have much time before someone outside hears that shit and calls the cops.” He pointed to the safety deposit boxes that had been damaged in the explosion. “Start filling the bag. Only take what you think we can pawn easily. Gold, jewelry, cash. And hurry the fuck up,” he ordered.

He and Joey got to filling the backpack.

“How are we going to get out?” Joey asked while scooping up a handful of necklaces.

“Right along with everyone else. That’s why we have a back-up plan. Now don’t ask stupid questions.”

They spent less than two minutes stuffing the bag, then Mickey zipped it up, but not before taking the two guns and masks out of the small zipper in the front.

He pushed a gun and the backpack into Joey’s hands. “You know where to put this. Meet me in the front. Remember not to take the mask and gloves off until you’re in the manager’s office.” The blond nodded went off in the direction of the bathroom.

Mickey turned to look at the main lobby of the bank. He had never wanted things to get to this point, knowing that a hostage situation would be dangerous and would not end well. He hadn’t told the rest of his family because he was afraid they would have thought it was ridiculous, but Mickey and Bianca had rented a bunch of bank-robbery movies and had come up with a back-up plan.

With his lips pressed in a tight, grim line, he put on the black mask and cocked the gun. Right before walking out, he triggered the surge, ending the incessant ringing of the alarm and sending the bank into darkness once again.

“Alright, everyone! Hands where I can fucking see them!”

His voice echoed in the silence, but the minute the people inside heard his words, they erupted into a frenzy. They ran towards the main doors despite the bars being down.

Mickey walked out to the main lobby amidst the pandemonium, gun held high. He could barely hear himself over the commotion, so he fired the gun in a warning shot, up and towards the ceiling.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” he shouted in the silent wake of the gunshot, satisfied that he now had everyone’s attention. Joey finally joined him in the lobby with his own mask and gun, minus the backpack, which he had stowed safely at the bottom of the garbage can of the bathroom.

“We can either do this the easy way or the hard way. Nobody has to get hurt,” Mickey continued, using every cliche in the book to sound more like an actual bank robber.

He looked over to the counter, where Bianca stood beside the other teller, Cindy, trying her best to act scared. She was doing a decent job. “Both of you, get out from there,” he yelled, gesturing for them to step out from behind it.

Joey had his gun to the back of the manager who had come out to calm everyone down. He gave him a shove to the center of the lobby. They quickly herded the hostages together. All except Terry, of course, who sat waiting in the manager’s office.

“Now, I want everyone to _slowly_ take their cell phones out and slide them over to us,” Mickey continued, shouting out the directions.

He watched as the hostages fished into their respective bags and pockets to draw out their phones. They put them on the tiled marble floor and pushed them over towards Mickey and Joey. Mickey started crushing the phones with the heel of his boots.

Things seemed to be going well… Mickey let out a breath, his nerves about the whole fucked up situation finally easing. Of course the minute the thought formed in his mind, he jinxed it: a sharp, loud cell phone ringer started going off from the pile of electronics on the floor, causing everyone to freak out again. The rings were accompanied by a flashing blue light in the darkness of the bank lobby.

Mickey looked around and saw some businessman fumble with the earpiece he had on. Mickey opened his mouth to chew the guy out for not giving them the earpiece along with his cell but Joey beat him to it.

“Fucking bluetooth-wearin’ piece o’shit motha fucker!” he practically roared, rushing towards the man and pistol-whipping him with the butt of his gun. The old guy went down, clutching at his bleeding nose, but Joey didn’t stop there. He kicked the man whimpered with each kick Joey delivered to his stomach.

Mickey crushed the last cell phone just in time, because when he looked up, his brother had his gun cocked and pressed against the man’s temple.

 _Holy fucking shit,_ Mickey thought, not realizing how wound up his brother had been. He immediately reached for Joey’s arm, saying, “Ay, ay…” to get his attention. Joey turned to stare at Mickey. “Easy… Don’t be stupid. We can’t hurt anyone, or it’ll be battery and manslaughter,” he whispered into Joey’s ear through the mask. (As if aggravated assault and robbery were any better…)

Just then, blue and red lights flashed through the glass of the main doors. The lobby was momentarily illuminated and Mickey saw one of the hostages staring at him, wide-eyed. He’d been close enough to hear the exchange between Mickey and Joey. It only took a second for Mickey to recognize him as the cute redhead from Dunkin Donuts with the clingy, flamboyant boyfriend.

“Fuck,” Mickey muttered, snapping himself out of his momentary daze. The police had arrived, and they’d be trying to make contact soon. They had to get to their positions before the inevitable SWAT team came in.

Mickey tapped his wrist three times with the barrel of his gun, the signal to Joey that they needed to go. He gave orders to the hostages, splitting the group down the middle, sending half to the manager’s office with Joey and taking the other half with him into the conference room, in the darkest corner of the bank.

Bianca and Cindy were with him, as well as the bluetooth guy, an old lady nervously rotating a penny between her fingers, a construction worker and some girl in her twenties who looked like she was regretting ever getting out of her bed.

“Get in and get under the table,” he said. “On your knees,” he grunted to Bianca, pushing her through the doorway and down to the ground. Cindy let out a frightened scream in reaction to seeing Bianca hit the floor beside her.

“Keep your heads down and it’ll all be over before you know it,” he told them. As he walked into the room, he ripped off his mask and gloves, tossed them into the garbage can in the corner along with the gun, and quickly joined the hostages in the huddle underneath the table, on Bianca’s other side.

She turned her head to the side and gave him a tentative smile and a wink.

There was nothing left to do but wait to be “rescued.” Mickey made a mental note to thank Iggy for actually doing his job right: without the bank being so dark, they would have been fucked. 


	5. The Escape

 

It all happened in a blur. One second, they were huddled on the ground in the manager’s office and the next, the SWAT team was rushing in, getting everyone out. They were running out of the doors, being guided by police officers past the row of cop cars parked on the street, to the safety of the ambulances behind the car barricade.

Ian was sitting on the back edge of one of the ambulances, having just been examined by an EMT and given the all-clear. He hadn’t been hurt or anything, but apparently because there was an explosion involved, everyone had to be checked.

He looked around at the scene around him and focused a red-faced security guard being questioned by a police officer, guiltily explaining that he’d had an emergency with his mother and had stepped out for “ _ only a second”  _ to make a phone call.

Ian heard his name being called and looked around for the source of the shout. A cop approached him and took his riot mask off as he came closer. Ian was able to recognize Tony, his sister’s friend from their neighborhood.

“ Hey…” Ian said to him, half-heartedly.

“ Is he okay?” Tony wondered, looking past Ian to the guy behind him. The EMT nodded and stepped aside, busying himself with making notes on his clipboard.

“ Holy shit, Ian. What the hell happened in there?”

Ian eyed Tony, not sure if he was asking as a friend or as a cop. Tony must have picked up on Ian’s wariness, because he put his gear on the floor and held his hand out to help Ian stand.

“ I just want to know if you’re okay. We can get to the questions later.”

Ian blinked, then accepted Tony’s help. “I don’t know,” he said, honestly. “I just… I don’t know.”

“ The SWAT team did a sweep of the bank but all they found was guns, gloves and masks in the garbage cans. The inside of the vault is a disaster... We’re searching all of the hostages and employees, but so far no one has anything incriminating on them. It’s as if whoever tried to rob the bank just left everything inside and disappeared,” Tony explained. “Did you see anything? Do you know what happened?”

Ian hesitated, going over the whole thing in his head. He’d definitely seen two robbers, but felt the need to keep that information to himself, having grown up in the South Side with a blatant mistrust of everything to do with police and the legal system.

“ No... After the alarm went off, the lights went out completely. I didn’t see anything,” he said. At least it wasn’t a complete lie… it  _ had  _ been really dark.

“ They took our phones and then made some of us go into the manager’s office. It was even darker in there… and it was all over so fast. One second we were in the lobby and the next we were being escorted out by you guys…”

“ What were you even doing here?” Tony asked him.

Ian bristled at the implication that he didn’t  _ belong  _ in the bank, but knew that Tony hadn’t meant for it to come out like that.

“ I had to make a deposit of the cash from the Kash and Grab. If I didn’t stop to get a fucking iced coffee I would have been in and out before any of this even happened,” he muttered.

Tony gave him a sad smile, and patted his shoulder. “Hang tight. I’ll tell the sergeant that you’re clean and that I know you in case they need to ask you more questions. Hopefully they won’t need you to go down to the station, and you can just give your statement here.”

He walked away, leaving Ian standing there in the middle of the parking lot, wondering what he should do. He took a deep, steadying breath and looked around, wishing he still had his cell phone so that he could call Fiona and tell her he was okay, or Linda to tell her what had happened. Someone needed to get to the store and  open it back up , otherwise they’d lose a whole day’s worth of business.

He walked in the direction Tony had been headed with the intention of borrowing his phone when something caught his attention. About twenty feet ahead of him, one of the police officers was busy taking a statement from another hostage, except he wasn’t anyone Ian recognized from inside the bank.

Tony’s words suddenly made sense. He said they’d found guns and masks in the garbage cans, but that the robbers had disappeared. They must have ditched their garb under the cover of the darkness in the rooms and joined the rest of the hostages before the cops had rescued them.

“ Like I said, I was waiting for my girlfriend to finish her shift. She’s a teller here,” the guy said to the cop who was taking notes.

Ian walked closer, wanting‒no,  _ needing _ ‒ to hear the conversation better.

“ And you were alone?” the overweight officer asked him without looking up.

“ Nah, man. I was with my brother. We were gonna go get lunch with Bianca. I  _ already  _ told you this shit.” He huffed in exasperation and cracked his inked knuckles. “Look, you've searched me, and I ain’t got  _ shit  _ on me, so unless I’m bein’ charged with something, I’m wanna fuckin’ go,” he demanded.

It was only when Ian got closer and actually focused on the brunette being questioned that he started putting two and two together… It was  _ him.  _ The one with the blue eyes. The one who had stopped the other robber from killing the businessman.

Ian’s heart was racing. He could feel each beat pounding in his chest. This guy was the robber! This was  _ him! _ He wanted to say something‒he  _ had  _ to say something‒except his feet were rooted in place and his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. He couldn’t move.

As if sensing he was being watched, the brunette looked up and made eye contact with Ian. Something changed in his expression; he had looked annoyed before, probably by the incompetent cop who kept asking him the same questions over and over... but upon seeing Ian, his features visibly softened.

Then the guy surprised him, because Ian could swear he saw the corner of his mouth twitch up into a smile. It was small and it was more of a smirk than anything, but it was definitely there...

...and it made Ian feel like he was a fourteen year-old kid again, falling for the  _ wrong  _ guy. His pulse quickened, his throat tightened and he felt his face flush…

He was fucked.

~ ~ ~

Ian did the only logical thing he could think of next and followed the brunette home. There were three other people walking with him: his blond brother who had met up with him after the police were done questioning him, one of the tellers‒Ian assumed  _ she  _ was the girlfriend the guy had mentioned while giving his statement‒and the gray haired man who had been in the manager’s office. Ian had  _ thought  _ he looked familiar, but had ignored his instincts…

A girl with big bangs and long black hair was sitting on the steps of the porch, nervously cradling a beer, waiting to greet them. Ian kept his distance and stopped a few houses down on the opposite side of the street. He watched as the girl with black hair put her arms around the guy’s neck and gave him a happy, relieved hug.

Ian recognized the house. Everyone knew about the Milkovich family, and Ian had been warned at an early age to steer clear of them, which was probably why he hadn’t recognized the guy from the bank earlier.

He vaguely remembered having a history class with one of them‒Mandy, his memory told him‒back in his sophomore year, but they had never spoken to each other. Mandy was the one with the black hair, now hugging the girl.

It was still the middle of the day, so he didn’t dare go any closer. Ian smoked cigarette after cigarette from his niche across the street and just watched the house, no real goal in mind. He couldn’t explain why he was so intent on being there…

No one went in or out all afternoon. He still didn’t know why he was there, but when the cigarettes ran out, he eventually looked down at his watch, saw that he had wasted hours staring at nothing, and decided he should probably head home.

~ ~ ~

Carl ripped open the front door to let Ian before he’d even set foot on the porch. He was assaulted the minute he stepped into his house; Fiona wrapped her arms around his neck and Debbie squeezed his waist tightly in a display of affection that was rare now that she was a teenager.

“ Oh my God, oh my God.” She let go of him and banged her arms against his torso. “Tony called an hour ago to see how you were holding up. You were a hostage and you didn’t fucking call us?”

“ They smashed my phone,” Ian explained, as if that was enough.

“ Where the hell have you  _ been  _ all afternoon? It’s almost six!” she pressed, voice shrill.

“ I… uh… I was just walking around. Needed to clear my head.”

“ Oh. Well, thank God you’re alright,” Fiona said.

“ Did they have guns?” Carl asked with excitement, cutting their sister off.

Ian peeled his sisters’ arms off of him and gave his little brother a quick nod.

“ Cool! Wait ‘til I tell Bonnie” was Carl’s simple reaction. It didn’t take much to entertain his sociopath brother.

Ian shook his head but remembered he’d come home for a reason.

“ Fi, can I use your cell?”

Fiona wordlessly handed him her phone. He walked over to Liam’s playpen and  dialed  Aaron’s number, absentmindedly stroking his baby brother’s short hair.

“ Hey, I’m home...”

“ Great! I’ll be there in half an hour.” His words were more upbeat than his voice sounded. “I made reservations at this new resto-bar by the Navy Pier. See you soon.”

Aaron hung up before Ian even had a chance to get a word in. He sighed and gave his sister her phone back.

“ I’m gonna go take a shower…” he told his siblings. They got out of his way.

He climbed the stairs slowly, surprised at how tired he felt all of a sudden. Even the simple task of turning the water on and undressing seemed to require more effort than he could give.

It was all too much: everything that had happened, plus worrying about what to say to Aaron. He’d been in a bank robbery… a  _ fucking  _ bank robbery. This was the kind of shit being in their neighborhood brought along with it.

Ian stood in the shower, letting the hot water run over his body, washing away the stress his day had brought with it. He watched the air in the room fill with a cloudy haze, steam billowing within the confines of their shower curtain, and he felt his muscles gradually begin to relax from the heat. Maybe getting away was exactly what he needed. He could get a job and send money back home, just like Aaron had suggested. The Gallaghers were survivors. They’d figure out a way to get by without him.

~ ~ ~

The restaurant Aaron picked was so fancy that Ian felt a little self-conscious being there. They were seated right away, despite the crowd of people waiting for tables‒one of the perks of having a rich boyfriend. Aaron was usually able to get them reservations to places that were fully booked.

It was a seafood place, and there was no menu; the waitress told them the day’s specials, omitting the prices, of course, and Aaron did the ordering as usual.

“ So, how did your brother take the news?” his boyfriend asked after nodding his approval to the sommelier who’d brought over the wine.

“ I didn’t really get a chance to talk to him yet,” Ian admitted. Aaron had been on a work call from the time he’d picked Ian up in his BMW until he’d handed the valet his key, so Ian still hadn’t had a chance to tell him about his day. “Actually, I was‒”

“ Are you kidding me? You told me you would.” Aaron didn’t raise his voice, but Ian could tell he was getting upset.

“ Well, I was planning to, but‒”

“ I can’t believe you’re stalling again,” his boyfriend said, cutting Ian off a second time. “I’m almost thirty, Ian. I don’t have time for all these games. This promotion is a really important opportunity for me, and‒”

The Blackberry on the table started vibrating, and Aaron immediately ended his little rant to answer it. “Yes sir, I left the financials on his desk. The balance sheet and the income statements are ready for his review but we’re still waiting on back-up for the cash flows. I don’t know how they expect us to work without the proper supporting documentation…”

Ian zoned out to the white noise of yet another boring accounting discussion. He took a sip of his wine while watching Aaron, who had now pulled out a folder from his briefcase and was running through figures with whoever was on the other end of the line.

Was this what New York would be like? Would he be pushed to the sidelines, constantly waiting for Aaron to finish working? When they had first met at a club over a year ago, Ian had been looking for someone outside of his world, and  he had  _ more  _ than found that with Aaron… but lately, it seemed like the things that drew him to the brunette in the first place were the things that bothered Ian the most now: the easy life, the money, the gifts, the career, the perfect family… Aaron didn’t realize how good he had it.

“ Thank you, sir. I’ll be sure to send that spreadsheet over as well, along with the figures from the client.”

He ended the call but didn’t look away from his phone.

“ Are you texting someone?” Ian asked.

“ What?” Aaron asked, distracted. Ian motioned to the phone in his boyfriend’s hand. “Oh, no,” the brunette said, realizing what Ian had meant. “The senior manager wanted me to email him some files. Go on, I’m listening.”

Ian sighed in frustration, but knew that if he didn’t just tell Aaron what had happened now, he’d be stalled by yet another interruption. “There was a robbery at Archer Bank today. After I saw you, I went to make that deposit for Linda… That’s when it happened. They robbed it. While I was in the bank,” Ian explained. His words were halted, almost like he didn’t want to get them out.

He took a deep breath, surprised that he was feeling nervous. Ian hadn’t realized how traumatic his day had been until that moment‒until he tried to tell his boyfriend about it. He’d had guns pointed at him today, and was only now feeling the gravity of the situation. It didn’t matter how much weapons training he’d had in ROTC... having a gun pointed at you‒a real, loaded gun‒was a completely different feeling… one that Ian hoped he would never have to feel again.

Aaron looked up at him for a second and nodded, causing Ian to frown.

“ They held us hostage,” he continued. “I was calm while it happened, but it was totally fucked up.. It was scary,” he admitted, in almost a whisper.

“ Oh?”

Ian watched Aaron still typing into his phone and felt his face getting warm with… what, annoyance? Anger?

“ I was a  _ hostage _ ,” Ian repeated.

“ Did they take anything from you?” the older man asked, finally taking a moment to actually look at Ian.

“ They broke my phone, but that’s not the point,” the redhead responded. “ _ I was a hostage _ .”

“ Yeah, but you’re clearly okay, and the bank accounts are insured by the FDIC.”

Ian scowled at him. He definitely  _ wasn’t _ okay. He waited for Aaron to finish his email before responding. “They didn’t steal any cash. They blew up the vault and went for the safety deposit boxes.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow. “Hm. That’s actually pretty smart. People who use safety deposit boxes rarely document what they put into them, so it’ll be hard to prove anything for insurance purposes. Plus, you can’t really assign a true value to a piece of jewelry without a proper appraisal, and nobody has time for that. Good play.”

Ian couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he stammered out, mouth slightly hanging open. “You’re talking about how ‘smart’ it was? They had us at  _ gunpoint _ . I could’ve been  _ shot _ .”

“ You weren’t,” Aaron told him matter-of-factly.

“ _ I could’ve been! _ ”  Ian all but shouted. The people at the tables closest to them quieted and turned to look at them in a combination of shock and curiosity, but Aaron rolled his eyes, as if Ian was some kind of kid, upset that he wasn’t getting enough attention.

“ Can you please keep your voice down? We’re not the only ones trying to enjoy our dinner…”

“ It’s like you don’t even care,” Ian responded, voice hushed so that the neighboring tables wouldn’t hear. “Fiona nearly had a heart attack when I got home. I had to  _ pry  _ Debbie off of me, but you can’t even be bothered to put down your phone?”

Aaron put the Blackberry onto the table and smiled. “I guess they were worried about their main source of income getting hurt,” he said with a chuckle.

Ian looked at his boyfriend with disgust, his lips pressed together in a grim line.

“ Relax, baby, it was just a joke.”

Ian wasn’t laughing. He didn’t ask for much from Aaron, but Ian expected at least some acknowledgement of what he’d gone through… some support. All Aaron was doing was making him feel like a child.

Ian needed to go. He realized he needed to leave‒get as far away from his boyfriend as he could get‒before he said something he would regret. He pushed his chair back, the legs screeching against the tiled floor of the restaurant. The familiar silence fell in the room, with all eyes turning toward them again.

“ I’m going home,” Ian said, getting to his feet and dropping his napkin onto the table.

“ Come on, the food hasn’t even arrived yet. Sit down.”

“ Don’t tell me what to do.” He turned to go.

“ Ian!” Aaron called from behind him. “I was just kidding!”

He made it all the way to the bar before stopping. What was he doing?  He couldn’t just leave like that. He doubled back until he was facing Aaron again.

“ Oh, good. You’re back. Sit, before it gets cold.” He waved his hand in a motion that encompassed the Ian’s chair, as well as the plate of fish and vegetables.

Ian ignored the gesture and glared at Aaron. “You can’t just say shit like that. I don’t care if it’s a joke. My brothers and sisters  _ care _ about me, not just because I buy the groceries. I know you don’t know what it’s like to have people depend on you, but I do, and I’m not gonna abandon them.”

Aaron held his hands open placatingly. “Ian, I’m not telling you to abandon them. I told you: you can still help them out from New York. Are you going to spend your whole life making sacrifices for them?”

His words repeated in Ian’s head. “ _ Sacrifices.”  _ All of the Gallagher kids had made sacrifices. Fiona had sacrificed her high school education and countless career opportunities for the kids. Lip had sacrificed going away to an Ivy League school so that he could be close enough to help the family out. Ian had sacrificed his dreams of being in the army.

Ian knew that Aaron wasn’t the right guy for him, and probably would have ended things a long time ago if not for all the shit that had happened with Fiona.

Deep down, he knew he didn’t want to go to New York. Ian realized that if he  told his boyfriend the truth, that he didn’t want to move away him, Aaron would blame his decision on self-sacrifice for his family…

“ I don’t love you,” he told the older man.  _ That  _ was the real reason why Ian couldn’t give Aaron an answer before.

Ian wasn’t a coward; he looked right at Aaron, straight into his hazel eyes. The shock that registered there was unmistakable, the severity and coldness of Ian’s blunt words hitting him painfully. It was so fast that all he did was stare back at Ian, eyes glistening. Ian’s stomach reeled with guilt, but he knew he had no other choice than to say it… to tell Aaron the truth.

“ I’m sorry for leading you on… Good luck in New York.”

He couldn’t stay there. Ian left the restaurant in a hurry, before the brunette could unravel.

His relief upon leaving was palpable. Ian felt like he’d just gotten out of his very  _ own  _ hostage situation.

 


	6. The Future

 

 

 

Ian spun around for the hundredth time, still not able to fall asleep. No matter what he did, his brain was jumping from one memory to the next, not letting him rest for even a second. He’d spent the whole ride home on the El thinking about the robbery and about Aaron’s face after he’d confessed to not loving him. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to clear his mind, but it was no use. Blue eyes and crooked grins invaded his every thought.

“Can’t sleep?”

Ian opened his eyes and was surprised to see his little brother awake in the top bunk with a magazine and a flashlight in hand. He rolled his eyes when he saw the cover and realized it was a Playboy. He tried not to think about his brother jerking off in the same room while he was sleeping‒or at least, _trying_ to sleep.

“Nah, can’t clear my head. Where’d you get that?”

“Found it under Lip’s bed,” Carl admitted with a grin.

Ian shook his head slightly but smiled up at the little troublemaker.  “Mind if I borrow your phone? I think I’m gonna go take a walk, clear my head…”

Carl shrugged and used the flashlight to point at his cellphone that was charging on the desk. “I only have like twenty minutes left on it for the month, so try not to use it too much.”

“I won’t,” Ian answered.

Grabbing a clean shirt and a pair of jeans, Ian quickly got dressed and quietly left the house.

He hoped going outside would provide some fresh air, but the humidity from earlier hadn’t dissipated in the slightest. He could still feel the moisture in the air, heavy on his skin. 

If he didn’t talk to someone about breaking up with Aaron, Ian thought he would probably explode, and since Fiona had already been up in her room with the door closed when he’d gotten home after dinner, Ian’s only option was to call Lip.

He walked down the block, under the train tracks, and called his brother.

“Ian?”

“Hey. You still up?” He felt kind of bad calling‒it was 2am, after all...

“Yeah, I’m just studying for a macroeconomics test,” he said, voice hushed. “Hold on‒I don’t want to wake Amanda.” Ian could hear shuffling sounds and then a door creaking.

“You okay?” Lip asked in a normal voice a few seconds later. “Fiona told me what happened.”

“I’m okay. I’m fine. Yeah, I’m good.”

“Hah,” Lip barked. “Tell me you’re good one more time and maybe I’ll believe you.”

Ian laughed. “Yeah, well… I’ll get over it, right? Anyway, not why I’m calling you.”

“Oh?” Lip asked him, and Ian could hear the hitch in his voice from being intrigued. “What’s up?”

“I broke up with Aaron.”

“No shit!”

“Yeah… Don’t sound too happy about it. He wanted me to move to New York with him instead of giving him an answer I told him I didn’t love him.”

“Ouch, harsh.”

“Yeah…”

“So you’re regretting it?”

“No. I just feel bad about how I did it.”

“What’d he cry or something?”

“He probably would have if I’d hung around...”

“What a little baby. I guess he isn’t used to not getting what he wants. Fuckin’ North Side brat.”

The words rang in Ian’s head, so familiar.

“You’re the second person to say that today.”

“What, you talking to Linda about your man issues now? I would’a thought that’s a line you guys don’t cross after the whole Kash thing…”

“Nah… Someone else… ” he muttered, distracted. He looked around, only now realizing where his subconscious had led him: the Milkovich house.

“Hey Lip, do you know any of the Milkoviches?” Ian asked, randomly changing the subject. If he had his brother on the line, he might as well get some use out of his neighborhood knowledge.

“Uh-huh…” Lip answered slowly. “Why? You need someone’s kneecaps bashed in or something? I’m sure Carl would do it for you free of charge…”

Ian laughed at his brother’s lame joke because Lip was probably spot-on. Carl had already been suspended twice for bullying and would probably be expelled by the time summer school ended.

“No but seriously… What do you know about ‘em?” Ian pressed.

“Not much... There’s too many of them to count, really. Terry’s the dad. I know ‘cause he’s one of Frank’s old drinking buddies… _Crazy_ motherfucker. He spends whatever time he’s not actually _in_ prison doing shit that will get him sent _back_ to prison, but if you ever need an alibi, he’s your guy.”

“Anything else?” he asked.

“The sister was friends with that hot Colombian chick. I _wish_ I’d been able to tap that but I was with Karen at the time! I can’t remember her name… Weren’t they in your grade?”

“Hah hah…” Ian mocked. “I guess I didn’t pay much attention to ‘hot chicks’ in my grade,” he told Lip with a chuckle. “But I do sort of remember Mandy. What about the brothers?” he wondered.

“Like I said, too many to count. The youngest one was in my class in middle school.”

“What was his name?”

“Mickey, I think. What’s this about, Ian?”

Mickey. Mickey Milkovich. That _had_ to be his name.

“Nothing…” Ian murmured, distracted. “It’s fine. I’m just walking around and happened to pass by their house is all. Hey, thanks for the pep talk. You comin’ home tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I guess I’ll see you then.”

“Peace out, little bro!” Lip said, laughing softly as he hung up.

~ ~ ~

He hadn’t meant to walk back to the house, yet there he was. The lights were all off, but Ian could see something moving, like images from a TV, flashing softly through the curtains.

He leaned against a telephone pole on the opposite side of the street and watched the house, lost in thought. Something was still nagging at him about the bank job. What was the point of the explosion and holding hostages, if they weren’t going to steal anything? They couldn’t have gotten away with hiding their spoils in their bags or pockets or something like that, because the cops searched everyone that came out of the bank, including the Milkoviches. So why did they do it, what did they steal, and how did they get away with it?

Someone must have finally turned the TV off, because the next time Ian looked back up at the house, it was completely dark on the inside. What the hell was he doing there? If he wanted to sleep, this definitely wasn’t the best way to do it.

Sighing, he turned to start walking back in the direction he’d come from, but then he heard the slow creek as the front door of the house opened. The short, stocky form of Mickey Milkovich walked out and pulled the hood of a sweater over his head after shutting the door behind him. He walked down the steps, out the yard and quickly turned the corner.

Ian didn’t even need to think about it. He followed Mickey, keeping a cautious distance.

Mickey walked like a man on the run, smoothly rounding corners and making sharp turns left and right. He walked in the shadows whenever possible. Ian wondered if he knew he was being followed or if being a Milkovich made him naturally wary enough to walk like that all the time.

Twenty minutes later, Mickey turned onto Archer Avenue, back to the bank. He went to the rear of the building, to the dumpster, and to Ian’s surprise, he climbed _into_ it.

The pieces finally clicked together in Ian’s head: they must have hidden whatever they had stolen in the garbage. Sure enough, Mickey climbed out a couple of minutes later with a black backpack slung over his shoulder.

Mickey looked around then, scanning the parking lot. Ian crouched lower, behind the car he was using to hide from view. The next time he checked out from around the back of the car, Mickey was on the move, apparently heading back home. Ian picked up the pace, narrowing the distance between them. He rounded a corner and was met with a fist in his gut.

Ian doubled over in pain, hands moving to wrap around his own stomach. He coughed until his eyes teared, wind completely knocked out of him, but he was able to make out the angry face of Mickey Milkovich standing in front of him in that black hoodie, backpack still carefully held over his shoulder.

Mickey moved with purpose, wordlessly grabbing hold of Ian by his shoulders and bringing his knee up with lightning speed and precision, right into Ian’s abdomen. The impact sent another wave of pain through his already reeling body, starting under his ribs and then spreading outward. Ian felt his arms and legs go numb with the pulse of it.

He felt like his ROTC training should have prepared him for this‒heightened his senses and made him be able to defend himself against the attack or something‒ but he hadn’t been paying any attention to his surroundings, distracted by the excitement of the chase.

His short hair was suddenly grabbed, head pulled back so that he was staring at Mickey’s fist, cocked and ready to take a final swing that would undoubtedly knock Ian out.

“Stop!” Ian managed to croak out in just a whisper.

He took a lungful of air and swallowed, then tried again. “Please!” he begged. “Just… don’t. Wait…” he sputtered.

Mickey eyed him, eyebrows moving halfway up his forehead, as if telling him to go on and make his argument.

Ian fumbled for the right words. “I knew it was you... _before_ ... I knew before I even gave my statement _..._ but I didn’t tell the cops,” he added hurriedly. He stopped and tried to catch his breath, the effort of talking too much for him when all he could feel was the throbbing pain in his gut.

“Think you’re some kinda hot-shit detective? Solving the mystery and letting us get by the cops by not saying anything, only to turn around and rob the robbers?”

Ian shook his head adamantly and winced, forgetting that Mickey was still holding onto him by his hair.

“So what the fuck are you doing here then, Firecrotch?”

Ian was thrown off by the nickname. “I… I don’t know…”

Mickey frowned and bit his bottom lip, eyes looking anywhere but at Ian. Then he did something which managed to surprised the redhead again: he loosened his grip on Ian’s hair and let him go. Mickey took a step back and pointed his finger at Ian. “Stay the fuck away, _Gallagher_.”

The emphasis on his name was a threat, and the message was received. Mickey was telling him that he knew who Ian was, even if they hadn’t met, and that meant that he could‒and most definitely _would_ ‒go after him and his family if Ian tried anything.

Ian stood and straightened himself out at a painstakingly slow pace. Mickey took a few steps backwards, hand tightly gripping the strap of his backpack, until he was a safe distance away‒far enough that Ian couldn’t catch him if he tried‒then turned to leave.

“Wait,” Ian called. He’d meant to say it louder, but that was as much volume as his lungs could provide. He started coughing again with the effort and bent over, bracing his arms against his knees, trying to catch his breath yet again.

What he didn’t expect to see when he got back up was Mickey stopped in the alley, standing there and waiting, watching. He hadn’t walked any closer, but he he’d stopped moving away. It was something… and it gave Ian courage.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it… wondering what the point was, if nothing was taken. I knew they searched everyone on the way out so I was trying to figure out how you did it.” He flicked his eyes in the direction of the backpack. “Now I know.”

Ian tentatively walked down the alleyway, going slowly towards Mickey, testing the waters. When he was only a few feet away, Mickey took a step back. Emboldened, Ian took another couple of steps forward but Mickey held a hand out, keeping the redhead at a distance.

It didn’t deter him. Ian didn’t stop, took yet another step closer, forcing the brunette to back. Ian couldn’t understand what was compelling him to move forward, just knew that he wanted to get closer. Closer to Mickey, hopefully without being decked in the process.

Their dance continued until Mickey’s back was pressed to the damp wall of the alley. Mickey grabbed Ian’s t-shirt by the fistful and spun him around, slamming him against the wall and pushing him back into the bricks. Ian could feel the hard edges and grooves behind him where the grout had been weathered away.

“What the fuck you playin’ at?” Mickey muttered under his breath.

Ian moved his hands up until they were holding on to Mickey’s balled fists and tried to get the brunette to loosen his grip on his shirt. They were so close, Ian could feel Mickey’s breath on his face each time the older boy exhaled. He searched his face‒for what, he wasn’t sure‒but it was like Mickey’s bright blue eyes were drawing him in. Those same fucking eyes that had practically called to him through the mask, not twelve hours earlier.

Ian felt his face flush again, this time accompanied by a feeling of emptiness in his stomach. For a moment, he actually felt like he was at the peak of a roller coaster, and the only place to go was over the edge.

 _Just do it,_ Ian thought. _Just_ fucking  _do it._

He closed his eyes and went for Mickey’s mouth, catching him by surprise if the little gasp that escaped from him was any indication. It was warm and wet and _delicious_ … It felt right in every way imaginable, and Ian let out small sigh as he felt everything around him disappear. The stress of the day, the break-up with Aaron, even the disappointment from the so-called sacrifices he’d made in the last year; all of it just slipped away.

Nothing else mattered except for the feel of Mickey’s soft lips against his, and when Mickey pulled Ian closer, the redhead thought this was it… perfection.

That is, until he was slammed against the wall, wind knocked out of him _again_. Mickey pulled back and effectively cut off the kiss. Ian stared at him for a second, eyes lidded, mouth hanging open from the interrupted kiss, fully aware that their hands were still touching. He smiled and craned forward, mouth reaching, wanting, needing, aching to connect with Mickey’s lips again, but the older boy moved his head back and away.

Ian tightened his hold on Mickey’s fists and spun them around so that _he_ was the one pinning Mickey to the wall. He went back in for another kiss, but Mickey turned his head to the side. Ian studied Mickey’s face, worried that he’d misread the signs, but he could feel Mickey’s erection against his thigh. He knew the brunette wanted it‒wanted _him_.

Ian leaned in closer and took a deep inhale of the crook of Mickey’s neck, while his head was still turned away. His smell was intoxicating. If he wasn’t willing to kiss again, at least Ian could do this. He trailed his tongue from Mickey’s neck to behind his ear, licking and caressing any skin he could get his mouth on.

Mickey let out another startled gasp, and Ian momentarily wondered if the brunette was ticklish in the sensitive area where Ian was kissing him, just under his earlobe. It seemed crazy for such a tough guy to be _ticklish_ … but he pushed the thought away, instead concentrating on how could feel Mickey’s pulse under his tongue. He sensed Mickey relax, his grip on Ian’s shirt loosening.

Ian let go of the older boy’s hand and somehow forced himself to stop for a second‒break contact with Mickey‒so that he could look at Mickey’s face, searching for a sign that the older boy wanted the same thing Ian did. The brunette’s eyes were half closed, his breathing quick and shallow. On cue, Mickey moaned softly, like he was starving for the contact from Ian. He let the backpack slide off his shoulder to the floor and used his free hand to pull the redhead closer again, rutting against Ian’s thigh.

Ian didn’t need more of an invitation. He went back to kissing Mickey’s neck while he worked at his belt, sloppily unbuckling it. He reached a hand into his boxers and adjusted himself so that his jeans were no longer constricting him. He unzipped his pants, then hooked his fingers into the waistband and pulled them down enough for Mickey’s erection to spring out. He looked down at it and smiled, liking what he saw. When he looked back up, Mickey was watching him, a hungry, lustful expression on his face.

“Turn around,” Ian ordered. He’d taken charge during their entire exchange, so why would this moment be any different? He always topped: first Roger, then Kash, even Aaron. He wasn’t gonna change that, and he had a gut feeling Mickey would be okay with it. The thug stared at Ian for a long moment. It was possible that he got a hint from the determined look on Ian’s face, but after what seemed like an eternity, he silently turned and faced the wall, putting his hands up flat against it to brace himself.

Ian spit into his own palm and stroked himself to get it nice and wet, then repeated the process and rubbed his fingers around the edge of Mickey’s hole. It wasn’t the best lubricant by any means, but Ian hadn’t exactly started the night with any of this planned out…

He stepped closer, until he could feel the hem of Mickey’s hoodie grazing the top of his cock.  Neither boy bothered taking off his shirt in their mad frenzy to get on each other. He put one hand on Mickey’s waist to keep the shirt from getting in the way, and used the other to guide his dick where it needed to go.

He pushed in slowly, not wanting to be too rough right off the bat. He pressed deeper until he was fully resting inside of Mickey.

“The fuck you waitin’ for?” Mickey hissed from between clenched teeth. Ian smiled at the brave words, but knew better than to rush‒he could feel how tense the older boy was. He rocked back and forth in small, slow movements, until he felt Mickey’s muscles begin to relax around him.

Ian increased his speed and the force of his thrusts, eliciting encouraging groans from Mickey every time he pushed into him. He gripped Mickey’s waist with both hands, squeezing tightly, pulling the brunette closer to meet each hard slam.

Ian continued his relentless assault on Mickey, relishing the feeling of his cock pounding into the thug’s tight ass. When he felt he was getting closer to climax, he snaked an arm around to Mickey’s rock-hard dick and grabbed it, stroking in time with his own thrusts. Within seconds he felt the warm, sticky ropes of Mickey’s cum falling against his hand.

Mickey’s muscles tightened as he came and it brought Ian that much closer to the edge. A minute later, Ian was spilling into Mickey, his body shaking with each deep spasm.

He pulled out slowly, carefully, because he was so sensitive. He didn’t know what would happen next. He was panting‒they both were. Mickey turned around and leaned back against the wall, dick hanging limply. He took a couple of deep breaths and then tucked himself back into his pants, zipping them up.

Ian had no words. He was too blissed out. He wanted to say how amazing it was‒tell Mickey that that had been the best fucking sex of his life‒but didn’t want to sound like some kind of chick.

Mickey pushed off the wall and knelt to pick up the backpack, without sparing Ian another glance.

“You’re going?” the redhead wondered, finally collecting his thoughts after the mind-blowing orgasm he’d just had.

Mickey nodded and began walking away.

“Don’t,” Ian said, cursing how needy and pathetic his voice sounded. It might have even cracked a bit.

“Don’t what?” Mickey shot back.

“Don’t go yet,” Ian tried.

“What, you think just cuz we fucked it means something?”

“No, but‒”

“But what?” Mickey interrupted. Ian closed his mouth, not knowing how to fix the way the conversation was going.

“I have to go home,” Mickey continued. “People are waiting for me.” He turned to leave again.

“Like your girlfriend?”

Ian couldn’t keep the disgust out of his voice as he said the words, and it was enough to stop Mickey in his tracks.

“What?” the brunette bit out, fear flashing on his face for just a moment.

“I heard you tell the cops. She was your alibi, right? Bet they didn’t know she was your inside man too… Does _she_ know the truth?” he wondered.

Mickey moved in a blur, his hand flying out to pin Ian against the bricks with his fingers around his throat. Ian was starting to learn that Mickey would always be able to surprise him.

“Whatever it is you _think_ you know, you better fuckin’ forget it,” Mickey threatened, pressing harder against Ian’s throat.

Ian moved his hands up to claw at Mickey’s fingers plaintively, but the brunette didn’t appear to be ready to let go.

“I just want you to wait a second. Just… don’t go yet. Can you do that? Can you just… _wait..._ a second?” His adam’s apple moved against Mickey’s hand with each word and Ian was barely able to fight the urge to cough.

Mickey stared at him until Ian felt the pressure slowly ease off his neck. He swallowed down a lungful of the thick nighttime air. “Can you _please_ stop choking me?” Ian begged, rubbing at his throat. “I only just stopped feeling my chest throb from your knee-butt before.”

Mickey barked out a harsh laugh, startling Ian, but the redhead soon joined in on the laughter. Mickey had a smile on his face, but it was more genuine than the smirk he’d given Ian in the bank parking lot. Ian could see himself spending endless days trying to continuously bring that smile to Mickey’s face...

He collected himself and pushed off from the wall too.

“We didn’t just fuck,” he said to Mickey.

“The fuck are you on?”

He’d meant to imply that he’d actually felt a connection with Mickey‒that what they’d done was _just_ sex to him‒but in his rush to say something to keep the brunette from leaving again, those were the words that had spilled from his mouth.

“That came out wrong… I mean, fuck. I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a complete idiot. How do you tell the random guy you just fucked in an alleyway that it was the best sex you’ve ever had?”

Ian couldn’t let things just end like this. He needed more of Mickey...

Mickey raised his eyebrows and shook his head slightly, like he had no idea what Ian was getting at.

“Come home with me.” Ian spoke the words, but couldn’t believe they came from him. _What the hell was he doing?_

“ _What_?” Mickey asked, echoing Ian’s own thoughts.

“Come over… to my house. With me. Stay the night...”

Mickey chuckled and shook his head. He tried to leave, _again_ , but Ian grabbed him by the arm.

“Don’t go,” he said for the second time, but there was more determination in his voice this time around.

Mickey barked out a laugh that sounded almost maniacal, but there was no smile accompanying this laugh...

“You expect me to… _what_ , exactly? Just fuck my family over and go with you? Like this is some kind of fucking fairy tale? We gonna be boyfriend and girlfriend now?”

Ian should have been hurt by Mickey’s words. He should have given up pushing the thug, but he was sure Mickey had felt something too. He could tell. You can’t fake something like that. He’d heard it in the brunette’s moans, felt it in under his skin and in his bones while they’d fucked. Mickey had been in utter bliss too.

“Come to my house with me,” Ian repeated, almost ordered.

“You don’t live alone.”

“Doesn’t matter. No one’s gonna care.”

“What fucking world do you live in?” Mickey shook his head but didn’t try leaving this time. It gave Ian even more hope.

“My brothers and sisters know I’m gay and they don’t care… Plus, they’re all asleep now. _Come with me_ ,” he pressed. “My brother’s room’s empty, and he’s got a big bed,” Ian added with a lascivious grin.

Mickey stunned Ian by answering his grin with a grin of his own.

“Let’s go,” Ian said, not wasting a second. There was no way he was going to give Mickey any more time to think about it or come up with an excuse. He turned and walked off in the direction that would get him home fastest. He didn’t even turn back to check if Mickey was following him; he _knew_ he would be.

Sure enough, a minute later, the thug was beside him, worrying his lip with his teeth, but still there, nevertheless.

“I need to go home and drop this off,” he told Ian, indicating the backpack.

Ian hesitated, worried that if Mickey went home, he would change his mind.

“Okay,” he said eventually. “I’ll go with you.”

“You can’t go inside.”

“Why not? Your girlfriend’s there?”

Mickey stopped walking. His lips were pressed into a hard line, and were almost white.

“You don’t understand… She keeps my dad off my case.”

Ian nodded, because he _did_ understand. They were from the same neighborhood, and he knew how much easier his life would have been with a beard of his own.

“I get it,” he said, simply.

~ ~ ~

Mickey walked into his house twenty minutes later. He and Gallagher had walked back in silence, neither one needing to say anything, but stealing stupid glances left and right.

He still couldn’t believe it. _Had that really just happened?_ Had he let himself get fucked in an alleyway by a guy he had just met?

Mickey didn’t know what it was about the redhead that made him drop his guard, but the attraction was definitely there. It was undeniable.

He assumed everyone was asleep, so he went into the kitchen and jumped clear into the air when he flicked on the light and saw his dad sitting in his familiar seat by the fridge.

“The fuck you doin’ sittin’ here in the dark?” Mickey shouted, beyond freaked out.

Terry took a puff of his cigarette and tapped it into the ashtray on the table which was already filled with a pack’s worth of butts. He gave Mickey a calculating stare that gave him an uncomfortable chill. For the hundredth time Mickey wondered if his dad could sense that his son was a faggot.

“Where is it?” Terry asked, voice thick with accusation.

Mickey frowned but silently took the heavy backpack off of his shoulder. He unzipped it and turned the bag over, letting its contents pour out onto the table. The array of gold and stones was dizzying as the shitty kitchen light flickered and cast reflections all over the walls.

“Holy shit..” Mandy’s voice came from behind him.

Mickey looked over his shoulder and saw his sister and Bianca standing in the doorway in their respective pajamas, peering past him and at the spoils.

Terry started sifting through it, separating the jewelry and cash into different piles. Mickey reached for a necklace with a single diamond hanging from its center, only to have his hand be swatted away.

“What the hell?”

“You don’t touch anything ‘til I’m done looking through it,” Terry commanded with a sneer.

Mickey seethed at his dad’s words. Terry had done fuck-all to help them with the job and now he was taking over? It was complete bullshit. He glared at his dad and reached for the necklace again, _daring_ Terry to stop him. “Bianca asked for a necklace, and I’m giving her a fuckin’ necklace.”

Mandy grabbed a soda from the fridge and sat at the table but Bianca followed Mickey into their bedroom. She held her hand out and Mickey let the chain pool into her open palm. She gave him a grin but looked at him with confusion when Mickey didn’t smile back.

He was hoping he wouldn’t have to say anything yet; he really thought he’d be able to get in and out without talking to her.

“Can we talk?”

“Uh oh, Mickey Milkovich wants to talk? This can’t be good.”

Mickey cringed, because she wasn’t far off.

“Look, my family loves you. You fit in here…” He didn’t add that he didn’t‒Mickey never felt like he fit in in his own home…

“What are you saying?”

Try as he might, Mickey wasn’t willing to come out of the closet yet. He couldn’t admit to being gay, but he had to stop lying to Bianca.

“I have to go… I- I met someone.”

Bianca slapped Mickey across the face. He put a hand to his burning cheek and gaped at her in shock, although he shouldn’t have expected any less from her.

“Now that my dad’s back, it’s just too much. I can’t deal with his shit, but clearly you can. Just… stay for as long as you want. You can have my room‒I’ll sleep on the couch‒I don’t give a shit. We’ll figure it out. I just have to go, _now_.”

“You’re breaking up with me? Just like that? For some random skank you just met?”

Mickey shrugged his shoulders. He wasn’t one for apologies. Gallagher was waiting outside and he just wanted to grab some things and get back to him. It was fucking gay but he felt drawn to the redhead and didn’t want to waste more time apart from him than was necessary. He and Bianca could sort their shit out later.

~ ~ ~

Mickey was disoriented when he woke up. He blinked and wiped the sleep from his eyes before taking stock of where he was.

He remembered going home with Gallagher, felt the weight of the redhead’s arm across his chest and the heat radiating off of his body from behind him.

Mickey also felt something poking him from behind and smirked, because they’d already gone three rounds. He tried to shift forward without waking the younger man but was stopped by the tightening of the hand draped over him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Ian asked him groggily.

“Gotta take a leak,” Mickey answered, trying to roll out of the bed. His bladder had woken him up, afterall. Ian didn’t budge. “You mind?”

“Yep. Let’s go again first; I’m ready.”

Mickey looked at Ian over his shoulder and arched an eyebrow up at him, marveling at his stamina. “Again?”

“Mhmm…” Ian hummed while nodding.

He snuggled into Mickey’s neck, and kissed him behind his ear. Mickey fought to control his shivers, because it was ridiculous how Ian had managed to find the _one_ spot he was ticklish, and it just so happened to be the spot that felt the best when Gallagher’s tongue ran down it.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went back and forth about putting in the alley sex, but then decided to just go for it because it reminded me of the boys' first time in the show: RANDOM and unexpected. 
> 
> I know it's just shy of 20k but it felt complete... I would have never finished it without Tania and Maia's help. Seriously, thank you both so much. <3
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading it! All comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!


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